


Something Spangel

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Engagement, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-21
Updated: 2010-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Angel and Spike can't fight the attraction between them, even when Buffy's around.Takes place during "Something Blue".





	Something Spangel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pjgale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjgale/gifts).



> This is for pjgale who requested: A hot spangle ficlet. Something from BtVS but Angel is so in love with Buffy but realises that he still has feeling for Spike.....
> 
> Here ya go! It's taking place during "Something Blue" so there is requisite Spuffiness.

Angel didn’t know what made him come back to Sunnydale so soon after his humiliating Thanksgiving visit. He tried to tell himself it was concern that Buffy was still in danger – after all, Doyle had said she was in trouble, and Native American ghosts just didn’t seem… vision-worthy.  
  
But, honestly, it was that he felt helplessly adrift after their last encounter. The day that never happened ripped open a wound he'd thought long since healed. He lacked closure. (Not that he’d say that in front of anyone who might accuse him of ‘becoming too California’.)  
  
So he slipped out after hours, telling Cordellia he needed to borrow a tome from Giles, and headed straight for UC Sunnydale, where Buffy wasn’t.  
  
So he naturally checked Giles’ place next. And yes, maybe it would be best to just walk up to the door and knock like a sane person, but long habit had him sneaking along the shadows of the courtyard to a window to check out what was going on.  
  
He stumbled back, knocking over a planter, that knocked over another, and the resulting shower of breaking crockery and spilling soil woke everyone in the condo complex and sent Buffy rushing to open the door, panting and peering out into the night, her lips kiss-swollen and glistening. Spike quickly followed, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “Careful, love, that had to be a Chirago or something larger from the sound of it.”  
  
Angel gaped. His brain had not quite caught up to what he was seeing.  
  
Buffy sighed, turning in his embrace. “Spike, I love you, but you have got to stop acting like I’m any less capable of kicking butt now that we’re getting married.”  
  
Although a moment ago it would have seemed a physical impossibility, Angel’s jaw dropped lower.  
  
“I just worry, is all. You’re my precious little wifey-to-be.”  
  
And Spike bent his nose to Buffy’s, and they nuzzled. Nuzzled!  
  
Angel snapped out of his stupor. “Hey!” He strode forward. “Get away from my… from him! Her! Each other!” He stomped his foot and waved at the space between them (slim though it was.)  
  
Spike turned, and already he had his tongue curled behind his teeth, that mischievous spark in his eyes. “Oh, look who’s come to congratulate us, honey! The ex!”  
  
Buffy extracted herself – with some gentle force as Spike protested – from Spike’s embrace and approached Angel with her hands up, placating. “I know this is probably a shock, but you and I broke up a good long time ago.”  
  
Angel squinted at her. Her expression was sane, calm, reasonable. “It’s… this is SPIKE.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I usually know who I’m marrying.”  
  
“Don’t take it too hard, Peaches. You’re invited to the wedding.”  
  
Angel grabbed Buffy’s shoulders, trying to shake her to get her to understand. “You’re under a spell!”  
  
She pushed him away and Spike stepped between them. “Right. The spell of my hot, tight body.”  
  
Angel grabbed two fistfuls of Spike’s shirt in a move much more violent than he had used on Buffy. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but…”  
  
Spike ignored him, leaning back to say to Buffy, “Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of sorting things out with grand-dad here.”  
  
“You can’t fight all my battles for me,” Buffy said, waggling a finger.  
  
“Just let me have the fun ones,” Spike said, laughing at the end as Angel swung him around and threw him.  
  
Spike pulled himself up against the concrete fountain in the middle of the courtyard and launched himself straight at Angel. They rolled together across the courtyard, kicking and punching and growling like alley cats.  
  
“Stop this!” Buffy tried to pull first Spike and than Angel away. Angel’s elbow caught her in the chin the second time she came close and she stumbled back, lowered her brow, and caught Angel up under the armpits, flinging him to the far side of the courtyard. Then she turned to Spike.  
  
He held up his hands. “He started it.”  
  
“Don’t even,” Buffy said, pointing at him.  
  
Angel crawled out of a small pile of debris. “Buffy. I… I’m sorry if I hurt you, but…”  
  
“No, not you, either.” She jabbed a finger at each of them. “You two are going to sit down and talk, like civilized people. Angel? I’m marrying Spike and there’s no changing my mind. I don’t care what you think of him or me, because this is my decision. Spike? Angel is my friend and yes, my ex. I am not going to take him out of my life just because you are in it.”  
  
“Buffy, he’s…”  
  
“Come on, Love! He’s…”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired and need to get some rest. Work it out. And if either of you stakes the other, he’s a dead man.” She skipped over to Spike and planted a kiss on his cheek. “And I’d better see  _you_  later.”  
  
Spike got a goofy grin on his face that sobered, but not much, into a smirk as he caught Angel’s glare.  
  
After Buffy’s bouncing ponytail disappeared around the corner of the building, Spike said, “I haven’t seen you this jealous since Darla threw you over for that stable boy in Amsterdam.”  
  
“He was a groom, not a…” Angel stopped himself. He crowded up to Spike, looming in his most intimidating and threatening manner, voice low and threatening, “What did you do to her.”  
  
“Nothing, you berk! We happen to be in love!”  
  
Angel frowned, studying Spike’s face. “Maybe you’re both under a spell.”  
  
“Oh that just takes the cake. Why does everyone keep saying that? Does it have to be a bloody spell when two people with sensational natural chemistry put aside their differences?”  
  
Angel stepped back. “Definitely a spell. That doesn’t change anything, though. You’re not good enough for her.”  
  
“And what, you are?”  
  
“This isn’t about me.”  
  
“Sure it is.” Spike closed the distance between them, lifting his chin. “Look at you, just seething because someone else is playing with one of your toys.” He touched his tongue to his top teeth and Angel felt a disturbing twist in his gut.  
  
Before he knew it he’d grabbed Spike and pressed their lips together, just to feel that wicked pink tongue.  
  
Spike stumbled back, sputtering, but when he recovered his footing he leered. “Oh! So that’s how it is. Ha! And all this time I thought you were jealous of Buffy!”  
  
“I am jealous of – you leaned in!”  
  
“Is that the excuse they use back in Galaway? Why, Angel, I had no idea you still cared.” Spike fluttered his eyelashes and leaned close. “Do you miss it? The feel of strength against strength, the strain and sweat, the passion that’s part hate part lust but all dirty?”   
  
Angel felt a deep shiver. He did miss it, and he could feel Spike’s hardness against him. His hands crept up of their own accord and grasped firm biceps. He breathed in the all too familiar scent and found himself hungry to taste more.  
  
Spike stepped back and shrugged. “I’d give you a go, but I’m spoken for.”  
  
“You little bastard!” Angel swung, but Spike ducked the punch, laughing. “You,” he struck again, connecting this time, “are not”, he gasped as Spike countered with a kick to his gut. “Marrying Buffy!”   
  
Angel grabbed Spike by the shoulders and barreled him into and over a row of trash cans. Lights turned on in the apartment windows above them, but neither vampire noticed or cared. Spike held onto Angel and flipped him over as he went down, and so they rolled together out of the courtyard and down an alleyway between buildings, scattering refuse and stacked crates as they went.  
  
Angel ended up on top as they rolled into the brick wall at the end of the blind alley. He pushed himself up, holding onto Spike, and inadvertently felt delicious friction as his crotch moved over the body beneath him.  
  
Spike’s eyelids fluttered and he pressed back.  
  
Angel chuckled darkly. “Why, Spike! Is your fiancé not meeting your needs?”  
  
Spike groaned. “We decided to wait. Largely ‘cause her sodding friends think we’re under some spell. But that doesn’t mean…”  
  
“Mmm,” Angel said, which was all he could manage with his lips pressed to Spike’s throat. He nibbled along the cool flesh, the delicious, delicate skin of the neck that curved just exactly to fit his lips.  
  
“F-fuck! Angel!” Spike tried to push Angel off of him, though he didn’t try very hard, and mostly his strategy involved bucking his hips. Angel continued his exploration down Spike’s neck to his collar, where his shirt got in the way. With a huff of annoyance, Angel tore the offending garment.  
  
“Oi! That’s my favorite shirt!”  
  
Angel rolled his eyes and nibbled and sucked the smooth planes of Spike’s chest.  
  
Spike responded by grabbing two handfuls of Angel’s tailored silk shirt and tearing it in half. He licked a swath up Angel’s broad chest and said, “There, how do you like it?”  
  
Angel liked it very much. He sank his fangs into smooth skin and his hands roamed downward, grabbing fistfuls of denim-covered flesh. Spike writhed against him. “Ow! Watch it… guh!”  
  
Angel smiled against Spike’s collarbone as he felt him give up all pretense of struggle and wriggle for a better angle to rub his crotch against Angel’s hip. Spike was tugging at Angel’s fly now, trying to get it open without the patience to look down at what he was doing.  
  
Angel pulled one more mouthful of tepid blood, that aged fine wine of family and belonging, and brought his lips back to Spike’s. This time they kissed in earnest, tongues digging, possessing, like they could crawl into each other’s mouths and become one at that one intense point of contact.  
  
Angel pulled back, gasping, and saw Spike looking up at him, startled and almost innocent, his lips swollen and blood-stained. His tongue peeked out, tasting the corner where Angel’s fangs had cut him. “Angel?”  
  
Angel growled and attacked again. Teeth clattered against teeth, tongues clashing, messy and fierce and possessive. They held onto each other hard enough to bruise as their legs kicked furiously to rid themselves of their jeans. Angel gripped Spike’s shoulder, his side, his hip, and finally took the ultimate sacrifice and lifted his hips a fraction so he could tear his boxers out of the way.  
  
Spike wrapped his newly-bared legs around Angel and humped up against him, the silk of skin replacing rough denim almost undid him. Angel pushed him down against the pavement, feeling the bunched strength of his abs lifting against him.  
  
“You’re killing me,” Spike said as Angel slowed his movements, feeling the body under him, indulging himself with memorizing the textures, the hard planes, the pleasure he was feeling and would probably not feel again for a while. Maybe not ever again, if he could just stop himself from doing this again.  
  
Spike’s forehead furrowed, and it he looked on the brink of saying something insulting and British, so Angel slipped his hand from Spike’s smooth hip (with that delicious little indent) and grasped his cock. He let his fist slide up, his thumb catching and smearing the dewy drop of precum at the tip. Spike gasped and threw his head back, eyes closed and mouth open. Angel jacked him slowly, enjoying the thin, satin texture while his own cook nudged between Spike’s silky hip and Angel’s wrist. He shifted and took both cocks in hand together.  
  
Spike hissed, face contorted in near pain, and abruptly reversed their positions. Angel gasped, air knocked out of him, while Spike attacked his mouth and humped into his fist.  
  
Angel’s free hand squeezed one cheek of Spike’s ass, his fingertips tracing the crack until they found his pucker and started teasing it, pushing just a little in as they passed up and down. Spike lifted his hips at just the right moment to force them in.  
  
“Bastard,” he said. “I was trying to…”  
  
“Ssh,” Angel said, jamming one finger in hard.  
  
“Ow! You bog-trott…”  
  
Angel added a second finger and twisted, finding that spongy nerve-mass. Spike wriggled, trying to get away and press down at the same time. Angel let go of their cocks and grabbed Spike’s hips. His cock head caught and held against the tight opening. Spike snarled and lifted up on his knees.  
  
“Fine,” Angel said, and held his fingers up to Spike’s mouth. “And no more talking.”  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow, vamped, and bit the proffered fingers.  
  
Angel’s eyes widened, but the bite was so quick it hadn’t really hurt, and he supposed blood was as good as spit. He pressed his wounded fingertips together, making the blood well and smearing it between them before returning to probe Spike’s entrance with them, twisting and scissoring to prep as quickly as possible. Spike was watching him, and Angel was suddenly afraid he’d change his mind. He pushed his cock in alongside his fingers, drawing them out at the last moment, tight in flesh on flesh.  
  
His hands returned to Spike’s hips, leaving a bloody smear on pearly skin. He looked up at Spike, uncertain.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. He lifted fractionally and dropped down, hard. For a second the friction had Angel fearing for his dick, but then it popped, and slid, tight and hard.  
  
Spike rode his cock, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration. Angel swatted his hand away as he tried to grab his own cock. Spike gave him a look and reached again. Angel took both wrists and held them behind his back. Spike was beautiful like that, like a painting of a martyr, thin chest taut, shoulders back, spine twisted.  
  
Angel struggled to get more, fast, hard pressure, pulling on Spike’s wrists. It wasn’t a good angle. He bucked and writhed, but everything was wonderful but not quite enough. He arched off the hard pavement, then lunged, throwing them both up against the nearest vertical surface.  
  
With Spike folded in half between him and the brick alley wall, and both feet on the ground, Angel had the purchase to slam in, hard and fast. Spike cried out and started shouting a litany of curses. Angel lost hold on his wrists and Spike gripped Angel’s shoulders, meeting each thrust and grinding up, his cock swelled and pulsed between them.  
  
Feeling Spike go over the edge sent Angel the last inch and he came with a pained cry, juttering to a stop, leaning against Spike, who, not having any support but him, was sliding down the wall.  
  
They slowly and awkwardly fell into a tangled heap on the filthy alley floor.  
  
Spike rolled his head back, looking at the glistening traces of blood on the rough brick above them. “Ow,” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” said Angel, now that passion had faded, he was realizing that the broken-glass-littered alley floor hadn’t been the softest of beds for a tryst.  
  
Spike scooted a little back and lifted his leg off of Angel, falling against the wall with a sigh. “So, about this… uh… thing.”  
  
Angel groaned. Silently, and with as much dignity as he could muster, he dressed and fled.  
  
***  
  
Spike winced with each step or odd move. His whole back was itching like an army of fleas. Gingerly he stepped into Giles’ flat.  
  
Buffy bounced up and hugged him. He made a strangled sound. She stepped back. “You fought.”  
  
“A bit. No worries, Sunshine. Brood boy’s still with us.” Spike gently extracted himself and limped toward the kitchen. Blood. Blood and whiskey needed stat.  
  
“So, did you boys finally sort it out?”  
  
Spike sighed, leaning against the counter. “I can safely say Angel does not blame you for wanting a piece of me. Can we really, pretty please, for the safety of my arse, cut him from the guest list?”  
  
Buffy gave him the “this argument is over” glare, and he sighed, lifting a bottle of Giles’ whiskey in salute. “Lord, monogamy is hard.”  
  
END


End file.
